A soft shudder went through the werewolf, releasing a mist, and leaving the naked human body curled on the ground. The kids looked on.

The gash on his thigh was deeper than I had thought. The creature’s claws had severed the thick muscle shield of the quadriceps and cut deep into the calf. I peered into the wound and saw the shredded femoral artery. The injured flesh quivered. Torn blood vessels crawled toward each other amidst the muscle starting to knit together. The Lyc-V had shut his consciousness down to save energy for repairs.

Pain lanced my waist, tearing up into my chest. Gritting my teeth, I turned Derek on his stomach, worked one arm under his hips and threaded the other across his chest under his arms. He was heavier than he looked, weighing in at one fifty, maybe one fifty-five. No matter.

“Hey, lady!” said the kid with feathers in his hair.

The children stood huddled together. We must have made quite a spectacle, Derek, nude and no longer furry, and I, drenched in blood, with my sword still smoking in its sheath.

“You need some help?” the kid said.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse.

He came forward, picked up Derek’s feet, and looked back at his pack. “Mike.”

Mike spat to the side and tried to look mean.

The kid with the feathers glared at him. “Mike!”

Mike spat again, for show—there wasn’t much spit left—came over, and awkwardly clutched Derek’s shoulders.

“Hold him under the armpits,” I said.

He glanced at me, fear dancing in his eyes, set his jaw, and shifted his grip.

“On three,” I muttered. “Three.”

We heaved. The world swayed in the whirlwind of pain and then Derek was draped across Frau’s back. He would be fine. Lyc-V would repair him and tomorrow morning he’d be like new. I, on the other hand . . . A wet bloodstain was spreading from under my jacket at an alarming rate. If the blood started dripping, I’d be in a world of trouble. At least I still hurt.

“Thanks,” I muttered to the children.

“My name’s Red,” the kid with feathers said.

I stuck my hand into the pocket of my pants. My fingers found a card. I handed it to him, careful to wipe the bloody smudge marring it on my sleeve. Not my blood. Derek’s.

“If you ever need help,” I said.

He took it solemnly and nodded.

THE STAIRS WERE DARK AS HELL.

I climbed, the steady pressure of Derek’s body distributed over my back. If I bent over just right, the pain was bearable, and so I dragged Derek and the bag up the stairs one step at a time, trying to keep my angle steady and being careful where I put my feet. I wasn’t certain if a werewolf could survive a broken neck. I knew I couldn’t.

I paused on the landing to catch a breath and glanced up at my apartment’s door.